


Rules for Survival

by Gemmi999



Category: Bandom, Jonas Brothers, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmi999/pseuds/Gemmi999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Mike isn’t a Revival Hopper—never wanted to be.  Brendon and Spencer and Ryan are, and he’s heard enough, seen enough, to know that he doesn’t want that life.  But then he’s caught stealing at the <b>Jonas Family Revival Extravaganza</b> and everything changes. AU.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules for Survival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mywholecry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywholecry/gifts).



> I wrote this because I had an idea for a world that’s really different from our own, but at the same time really familiar and similar. It’s post-apocalyptic, in a world that isn’t outright explained but rather hinted at. Religion plays a LARGE part in this fic, and while some elements are familiar others aren’t. What type of religion is involved is not really specified, because it’s kind of a conglomeration of things. I do not in any way disparage anyone’s religion and I hope nothing like that comes across in this story.
> 
>  **Recipient:** . It isn't quite what you wanted, but I hope you enjoy it anyways! Happy holidays!

Mike Carden has three rules for himself:

> 1) Only steal from people who look like they can afford it  
> 2) Only take a maximum of 4 wallets from one location, period  
> 3) If possible, do it at a Revival. 

He didn’t necessarily like the fact that he has these rules, but if it’s between that or starving at the side of the road, well--he got over any guilt long ago. He doesn’t even bother to pray for forgiveness (anymore); because at this point he’s pretty sure G-d is testing him. (He listens when he picks pockets at the revivals, thank-you-very-much). It isn’t a nice life, or a clean life, but it keeps him fed, with clothes on and occasionally it even puts a roof over his head. Never for long, and only at some of the children’s hostels that have sprung up over the past ten years, but it’s still a roof.

All of this is running through his mind as he looks at the advertisement for the **_Jonas Family Revival Extravaganza._** It’s a proper revival, something he hasn’t seen for at least three months, and his mouth literally starts salivating. A proper revival means days and days of free food, with prayer meetings and savings happening every hour, round the clock. It means different tents and no entrance fee and _music_.

He knows he’s going to go, knows the entire town is going to show up with their best outfits on and hair slicked backed and washed (even though most people can only afford a single bath a week and the revival is going to be at least four days long). It’s just a question of if he’s going to steal, if he’s going to risk not being allowed back in, risk not being allowed to eat the food and hear the _music_.

It’s really the last thought that scares Mike-the idea of having music nearby and not being able to hear it--the idea of people singing and dancing and celebrating and not being there. Still, the Revival is a week away and he has time to debate with himself, time to figure out if _music_ is worth an empty wallet; if it’s worth sleeping outside, and a sort-of empty belly. Really, it comes down to what they’re going to offer as food.

Mike’s seen some Revivals where the food is mushy oatmeal, thinned out with water until it was almost gruel, with nothing else to flavor it. That Revival had been long and drawn out like the food, with no music or dancing or color. He’d stolen a few wallets and didn’t get caught, but he still isn’t sure if that was a testament to his skill or the fact that at least one of the wallets had had _pictures_ in it, the sort of pictures that made his skin antsy and his junk hard. The sort of pictures that would have probably landed him in Reeducation, if they were found anywhere on his person.

Mike still looks at the pictures, occasionally, when he’s in the mood to tempt himself. When he feels daring and brave, when his skin is tight and drawn and everything feels like an itch. When he wants to remember that the world is more then Revivals and Reeducation camps and Hostels; more then the sum of its parts, all neatly labeled and identified for mass consumption.

He doesn’t get hard anymore, though. He isn’t sure what to think about that.

##

The Revival is everything he’d hoped it wouldn’t be: colorful tents and cheery voices, coupled with music and laughter and white shirts, everywhere he looked. It made the decision easier, though, and he isn’t tempted to slip his hands into open pocketbooks and purses; doesn’t fake stumble into anybody and lift a wallet as he pats them down. Instead he sits in the main tent and watches person after person accept themselves for who they truly are; watches person after person dunk their head in water and come up smiling, as if the past ten years hasn’t happened, as if their entire life isn’t a semblance of what it what was.

Gabe always said the Revivals were about accepting what little good there was left, accepting the reality they were faced with instead of daydreaming about the past, about what had been and never would exist again. Pete had laughed and said the Revivals were about reminding everyone that it could be always be worse. Mike isn’t sure which of his friends he agrees with, but he also isn’t sure it matters.

He hasn’t been “Saved” in four years, not since Tom came back, different and reeducated. They’d fought before Tom had been snatched, but after the words were hollow and the emotion empty. It was like Tom wasn’t Tom, not the boy Mike had played with in the streets, not the man he’d lifted wallets with in order to be fed. He was something different.

The tent is full of cheering bodies as another person accepts themselves and the world around them; Mike wishes he was cheering but all he really wants is to eat something, listen to music, let things be instead of wishing and daydreaming.

He stands up and walks out without a backwards glance. His mind is full and he bumps into somebody without even thinking about it, lets his hand wander as he’s trained them to do. It’s comfortable, and will keep his belly full and hopefully keep his mind empty. He plucks the wallet and continues to walk away without evening looking at the person he stole from.

So much for Rule 1.

##

“Hey!” Someone says, tapping Mike on the shoulder. “The food tent is about to open, if you’re hungry.”

Mike looks at the boy in front of him and shrugs. “I could eat,” he says, more out of habit then any actual desire to eat something. His pockets feel full with stolen money, wallets long since ditched, and he’d been on his way out of the Revival.

“It’s good food, I promise. Potatoes and carrots and lentils.” The boy says, smiling as if he’s trying to pacify a baby horse, with gentle words and a soothing touch.

Mike nods. “Sounds good.”

“It is,” the boy says. “I made it! I’m Frankie.” He holds out his hand expectantly.

Mike laughs a little and shakes the hand in front of him. “Mike.”

“Come on,” Frankie grabs the hand Mike had offered and tugs him along. “I can sneak you in the back, get you food before anyone else.” Frankie says this offhandedly, like he always goes and picks random strangers to feed, like he always introduces himself and smiles freely and doesn’t think about who might be watching, and Mike finds himself charmed by the encounter.

“Thanks,” he says a couple seconds later.

“Not a problem,” Frankie replies and Mike imagines it probably isn’t, not for this boy in front of him. He probably doesn’t go hungry every day, doesn’t have to steal in order to occasionally have a roof over his head, hasn’t lost friends to Reeducation camps or hunger or disease.

##

Mike’s sitting in the kitchen tent, bent over a bowl of stew that tastes better than anything he’s had it practically forever, when he meets Kevin. Frankie’s chattering away about traveling and how he doesn’t like it as much as he used to, because he keeps making friend and leaving them and making friends and leaving them, when an older boy comes up and says: “Yeah, Frankie. We know. You tell us enough...” with a teasing grin.

Frankie smiles and says: “Mike, this is my older brother Kevin.”

Mike glances up from his stew and stares because in front of him is one of the most attractive looking boys he’s ever seen, head covered in curly hair and arms nicely muscled. He’s tan and his clothes fit and he’s clean, and that’s so much more than any of the other boys Mike sees on a regular basis it’s kind of ridiculous. He stares for a few seconds and he can feel the beginnings of an erection, which makes no sense because he didn’t even get hard over the pictures anymore, so he has no clue why this scrap of a man with nice hair and nice arms and eyes that are just there and looking at Mike is able to stir this kind of reaction. Frankie coughs and Mike isn’t sure if it’s on purpose or not, but it catches him and he jerks out of his introspection.

“Um, hey,” he offers a second later before bending back over his stew. He can feel his face flushing and he doesn’t like being embarrassed, doesn’t like being caught off guard by something he doesn’t understand, so he tries to focus on his stew. Tries to focus on the bowl, tries to focus on his pockets, filled with money he’s stolen from people who came to Frankie’s Revival, from people who came to Kevin’s Revival.

He feels sick to his stomach, just a little, by the thought.

“Hey,” Kevin says. “You got a second? I think you should meet our dad.”

Mike blinks because that’s basically the last thing he expected to hear out of Kevin’s mouth. “Uh, sure?” He says and he wishes he’d taken a second to make it sound more confident, more commanding.

“He always likes meeting my new friends,” Frankie says, smiling. “He says it makes the whining easier to live with.”

“Ah,” Mike wishes he understood what he’s apparently wandered into. At least the stew is warm and filling, and the stove is hot, burning the chill out of the air.

##

Mike recognizes the man in front of him from the big tent, where he’d spent the morning watching people get saved, watching people accept themselves. In Mike’s more cynical moments it amuses him to think of Revival Hoppers, to think of Brendon and Spencer and Ryan who drive around the country going from Revival to Revival, eating the food and almost getting a contact high off of the number of times they can save themselves. Mike pretends to understand, the power of true acceptance is overwhelming, better then any drug he’s tried, really. But driving around and seeking it out, finding the best preachers and the best Revivals, all to do the same thing again and again just seems...foolish.

“So, how much do you think you made today?” The man in front of him asks, startling Mike. “And don’t lie, I know the first instinct is to say ‘what’re you talking about?’ and look indignant, but please give me some credit. I’ve been doing this since before.”

Mike looks at Frankie, still wearing the same damn smile, looking as cheerful and as naive as ever and he wonders, briefly, if the entire thing was a set-up. He knows it has to be, but he doesn’t want to associate Frankie with it, doesn’t want to taint the memory of stew and companionship.

“Um,” he stammers. “Does it matter? You’re just going to send me to a Reeducation camp.” Which is his worst nightmare, becoming soulless and automatic and losing everything that makes Mike _Mike_.

The man shakes his head. “Did I say that? No.” His face is grimacing. “Wouldn’t send anybody to one of those places, not for anything.”

Mike blinks at this news. “But, you run a Revival.” He says this before he really thinks about it and immediately regrets the words.

“I run a Revival.” The man agrees. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to sacrifice anybody to those hellish places. Not nobody, not even my worst enemy, which kid, you are so fucking far from being it isn’t even funny.”

“Ah--” Mike says, completely lost for words. He’s never heard of anybody getting pinched for stealing and not getting put into a Reeducation camp. Never. “Um, I didn’t get much.” He shrugs, empties his pockets and shows the family what little he’s managed to steal. “You’re welcome to it,” because anything to get out of this situation. Anything, even if it means he won’t eat for a few days and definitely won’t get a roof over his head for the next month or so. He can make do, he has before.

Frankie laughs and Mike blushes because he knows it isn’t much but it’s all he has and if it isn’t enough he really doesn’t know what he’s going to do. What they’re going to do to him. They say they won’t send him to a Reeducation camp but all that means to him is that they will do something else.

“Um,” Mike starts again. “Look, I totally don’t have a right to ask this, but if you’re going to beat me can you please avoid my hands? I--” He stops because he wants to explain, wants to describe the feeling of a guitar in his hands, but really now it doesn’t matter. He hasn’t owned a guitar in years, hasn’t heard one played outside a Revival since before.

“What?” Kevin interrupts Mike’s train of thought. “No, we’re not going to beat you! We’re going to help you.”

Mike looks at Kevin and a Frankie and the man from before who has probably been introduced but Mike clearly hasn’t paid enough attention because he’s drawing a complete blank. They want to help him. Help him.

“What’re you playing at?” Mike asks them. “Because you caught me stealing from your attendants, the money they would probably donated to your family, and now you’re saying you want to help me?” He shakes his head. “Look, I know it isn’t much but you should take it and let me go. I won’t come back to the Revival and I won’t tell nobody about how you are all weird and shit, we’ll just let bygones be bygones.”

Mike stands and starts to walk out the door when Kevin steps in front of him. “Mike,” Kevin reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. “I know it seems weird, but really, all we want to do is help you.”

“Yeah!” Frankie contributes. “It’s what we do, you know? Help people? Kind of our thing. Nick wants to make it a slogan for the Revival but Joe thinks it’s a stupid idea.”

“It takes a lot of hands to run the Revival,” the preacher explains. “When we meet somebody who clearly has a good heart, who wants to be a good person, but can’t because of--” he shakes his head. “We want to help. We need people to work the kitchens, to take care of the setup and advertising. It’s a good 100 people that work to make this happen.”

“And let me guess, you want me to help out. Join up. Pitch in.” Mike bites out sarcastically.

“Um, yeah.” Frankie says and Mike can almost hear the ‘duh’ Frankie is silently saying.

“We’ll feed you, three meals a day; we’ll cloth you and keep a roof over your head.”

“Plus you’ll get a bit of pocket money, not much--” Kevin says. “But enough.”

Mike blinks because he thinks they’re being completely serious, they really do want to almost adopt him, give him a life and a job and a _future_. And the idea is so big and so ludicrous and so unbelievable. “I haven’t been saved in four years,” he says in response. “I’m not sure I want to be saved again, the things I’ve done...”

Kevin squeezes Mike’s shoulder. “It isn’t a requirement, you know.”

“Yeah!” Frankie pipes up. “If it was then Kevin couldn’t be here. He hardly ever even goes into the big tent.”

The preacher just smiles. “We really would love to have you join us.”

##

Mike stays away from the Revival for two days, debating with himself, debating with Bill and Pete and Tom (for all that Tom just sat there and listened, didn’t offer a word either way), before deciding to go for it. There really wasn’t much here for him, just more stealing and living and he knows if he stays he’ll end up like Tom one day. He’s already been caught once, should already be in a Reeducation camp, and he doesn’t like to push his chances. He is not a gambler, not anymore, he can’t afford to be.

Still, working for a Revival is the last thing he ever expected to be doing. Growing up he’d wanted to travel, but he’d wanted to travel with his friends, wanted to travel and make music and entertain people. After, Now, well--he knows that isn’t possible. Knows that would never be possible. This Revival seems as good a way as any to get away, start again, and reinvent himself.

He doesn’t take the _pictures,_ leaves them with Pete and hopes he hasn’t condemned his friend to being Reeducated if they’re ever found.

As he walks into the Revival tent, looking for Kevin (and he flushes just thinking about him, thinking about his lean muscles and golden skin and tight body) he hopes he isn’t making a mistake. Catching site of Kevin, Mike feels his stomach swirl and tense. It feels familiar and different at the same time, he hasn’t felt this attracted to anyone since Before and now, to feel it here, to feel it every time he even just sees Kevin.

“Hey,” Kevin greets him with a smile. “I’m glad you came back.”

Mike grins in response. “I’m glad to be here,” he looks at Kevin and lowers his eyes a little. “Really glad,” and it comes out flirty and a bit sultry. He hasn’t flirted with anyone in years but it comes back quickly, a habit that he never truly broke.

“Me too.” Kevin blushes. “You’re actually going to be bunking with me--let me show you the way.”

Any last doubts Mike had rush away. He’s going to be living with Kevin, flirting with him, seeing him.

“Perfect.” He says. He’s not sure what exactly is perfect--Kevin? The situation? Everything? His life? But it is.

“I’ll tell you the rules as we walk,” Kevin smiles back at him. “There’s not too many, just three.”

“Okay.” Mike grins. He can handle 3 rules; he just gave up his old ones.


End file.
